This Warpath
by InTheArmsofaTheif
Summary: -One Shot-This was Stiles: a sixteen year old kid with a medically induced attention span, close to zero coordination, and has been hiding behind sarcasm since his mother died. [TW: self harm]


This warpath, this battle, this constant state of fear was breaking him. This was Stiles: a sixteen year old kid with a medically induced attention span, close to zero coordination, and has been hiding behind sarcasm since his mother died. But when every day felt like a panic attack, when every day he didn't know if he or his friends were going to be attacked, hurt, killed, when he had seen people shot, stabbed, dying, and when just last week his _father_ had been mixed up in everything as well, it all became too much. With every new monster to face, every fight or confrontation that sent his pulse racing until all he could hear was the ringing of his heart pushing blood in his ears, this persona Stiles had built for himself warped.

He had always tried to help, always wanted to help. He never wanted to see the people he loved hurt. But now there was a war going on and the people he cared about were taking different sides and more were getting caught in the cross fire. And for all his help, all his wanting to help, it didn't matter. He couldn't _do _anything. Not like this. Not as Stiles: goofy, flailing, sarcastic benchwarmer. His humanity continued to be his downfall.

As Stiles made his way home, lip busted and swollen, a sharp sting in his side as he walked, his mind wandered to the night Peter had offered him the bite. Maybe, if Stiles was a wolf too, and Peter still died, he could have convinced Scott to join Derek. Maybe, if Stiles was part of Derek's pack, he could have convinced him to not bite Jackson. Then no one would by dying. There was still a tugging guilt though; that Stiles wanted what Scott had been cursed by. God, maybe if Stiles hadn't been trying to help so Scott wouldn't get in trouble with his dad, had called him out when they were in the woods and Stiles was caught, Scott wouldn't have been bitten in the first place and none of this would be on his shoulders! Or maybe is Stiles hadn't had such a morbid sense of adventure he wouldn't have gone out looking for half a dead body.

Then, as he came through the door and lied to his dad (again, he thought bitterly) so his only living relative wouldn't find out about werewolves and hunters, so his dad could sleep easier than he did, Stiles gave up.

Stiles was broken. He didn't have the energy to overdramatically gesticulate or make witty banter. He was too tired from being terrified, too wounded from trying to protect everyone around him. And everyone around him continued to get hurt. What good was he?

Not for the first time, actually, it was probably closer to the hundredth time, Stiles thought about why he had said no. The guilt. The guilt of accepting something he had promised his best friend they'd do everything to cure. Stiles could see Scott's face if he had said yes. Betrayed. If Stiles was anything, it was loyal. Stiles wanted to say it was the guilt of leaving his father behind. That he wouldn't become a werewolf because his dad needed him. But he still ended up hiding this whole dark world from the only family he had left, losing his dad's trust in the process of trying to protect him.

Not for the first time Stiles knew he was lying to himself in the same way he had been lying to himself when he told Peter no. Stiles had wanted to say yes because he wanted the glory, the girl, everything Scott had and was taking for granted. Stiles had wanted to say yes because he could see so many possibilities. But Stiles had said no because he was afraid. He was afraid of being hunted.

And God damn it! What was Stiles now? Pulled off of the lacrosse field after being the hero his dad said he was for the first time in his life, a strong hand clamped over his mouth, thrown into a basement and beaten. What for? He was Stiles, the measly human who could scour the internet for flimsy information and use fairy dust to trap mythical beasts only to have to break it seconds later because the plan fell through. He was just Stiles and he was being hunted already. This time because of his humanity. Because the betas wouldn't, couldn't give up their alpha. Too strong an instinct, Gerard had said. But Stiles was just a human, eventually he would break. And he did.

Stiles had been broken and barely breathing for too long. Sarcasm couldn't defend him against fists and knives and bullets. Who he believed himself to be was being beaten out of him. All of the things that made him Stiles was lost in the pain and the fear.

For the first time in his life Stiles was driven, focused, mind not straying or speeding off. He wasn't overthinking and worrying. This had been on his thoughts too often and he always left the question unanswered. Stiles had been broken before and he knew you could never quite heal back to who you were before the pain. Stiles knew he needed to pull himself back together as someone different. Someone better.

So Stiles went to find Derek.

X

When Stiles asked for the bite, face like stone and heart beat steady, Derek tensed. There was something perverse about turning Stiles. Derek didn't have long to examine his own reaction before noticing the marring of Stiles's flesh and the blank look in his eye.

"I'm sorry," Stiles continued, when Derek stayed silent. "Gerard has Erica and Boyd. He beat me up in front of them until I told him. And I did. I told him where to find you. I told him everything. Because, fuck it, I'm weak. I tried to hold out, but I couldn't, and when I gave up, I gave up. I just went home and tried to sleep, but god damn it!" Stiles angrily kicked the wall beside him, wincing through what Derek suspected was a cracked rib. "I hate this! I'm caught up in this fucking mess and being hunted when I'm not even one of you so I might as well just be one of you."

There were tears forming in the corner of his eyes. For all the times Derek had seen him in a panic, there was still something jovial behind his eyes, a lighter spirit that kept him going. Derek couldn't see any of that now. Something clenched in Derek's stomach. Stiles wasn't Stiles, but he was there asking for the bite. One thing made him confusingly upset and the other disturbingly happy. Before he could fester in his conflicting emotions, a flood of guilt washed over him.

Derek had tried to make a pack. Jackson had become an abomination, a word Stiles had used, and Stiles had been right. Jackson was Derek's failure and the nightmare they were fighting the past few months. Erica and Boyd had left him, out searching for a new alpha. He wasn't sure about Isaac. Derek had failed them. And then there was Scott, the betrayer, who kept pushing Derek away. Derek had tried to make a pack and nothing had come of it besides teenagers with tragic lives turned more complicated by the supernatural. Derek was alone save his uncle, the man who killed his sister, back from the dead.

How could he let Stiles join into this? Become something that was falling apart. How could Derek trust that Stiles wouldn't just backstab him like Scott had? How could Derek force Stiles into the company of the man who first turned his life into this mess? Derek had been making all the wrong choices since becoming alpha. He needed to stop. So he told Stiles no.

How could he possibly know that was the biggest wrong choice of all?

That night, things seemed to clear up. Jackson became a werewolf. Gerard was dead. But Derek saw as Stiles brushed off Scott and looked at everything with the same blank expression he had come to him with earlier. But Derek hardly had a day before a new threat came and took his focus away.

X

Stiles went to school, practiced lacrosse with Scott, did his homework, and waited for the summer. The school year was almost over by the time Jackson turned, so Stiles didn't have long to wait. Yet as the days went by he could tell he was just going through the motions. And Stiles watched as Erica and Boyd's disappearance was hardly recognized among his classmates and Jackson, Issac, and Scott formed a bro-hood, while Scott still refused to acknowledge Derek as his alpha. Lydia went back to ignoring him in favor of being the only friend Allison could find as she was trying to stay away from Scott as much as possible.

Stiles watched this all happen around him with dulled curiosity.

He told himself he was okay every day. Stiles looked in the mirror and repeated that everything was fine. Somehow he never really believed it. It was a full month after Gerard that Stiles learned about the alpha pack, suddenly becoming aware of what those whispered discussions between the boys were about. It was also the first time Stiles had talked to Derek since asking for the bite.

It was the week after the full moon, only a week before vacation, and Derek was interrupting the lacrosse practice they did for fun after class that now included the other two wolves and Danny.

"Hey, Miguel," Danny smirked, ignoring the tense stances of his teammates. Derek snarled and turned his attention to Jackson. "They're rounding back. Lydia done translating the bestiary?" As Jackson responded, Stiles looked on in confusion. It was obvious from Danny's remark and the way stood behind Jackson meant he knew that Derek wasn't in fact Stiles's nonexistent cousin. The way that Derek didn't blink twice before talking about supernatural business in front of him suggested that Danny also knew that Derek was a werewolf. Then there was the fact that Derek had Lydia translating the bestiary. But what really threw Stiles off was the first part of what Derek said.

"What do you mean 'they're rounding back'?" Stiles asked, cutting into whatever Jackson was saying about Lydia's findings. "Who the fuck are '_they_'?"

His eyes locked with Derek's for a moment as he answered in an off-hand, casual manner. "There's a pack of alphas trying to pick us apart and it would be really helpful if Scott," he said, turning his attention the aforementioned werewolf who was glaring daggers at Derek, "would just stop acting like an idiot and accept the bond and join the freaking pack so we can stabilize."

"And it is officially time for me to bow out and avoid your crazy shit," Danny said, heading back to the bleachers to grab his things. Before Stiles could wrap his head around Danny having found out about werewolves and no one telling him, a pack of alpha werewolves terrorizing the town and no one telling him, and the fact that none of them look even slightly apologetic now, Scott was already in a tizzy listing all the reasons why he wasn't going to join Derek's pack.

Stiles knew Derek needed three betas to stabilize. He had Jackson and Isaac and Peter. He shouldn't need a fourth. But Stiles supposed having someone that is vicariously living off the pack while forcing the bond away must be giving them strife. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Derek, keeping his eyes locked on the alpha, watching as his pocket buzzed, he read the message, typed a reply, put it away, and continued to look unimpressed by Scott. Not once did Derek look at him.

Stiles phone chirped in his hand. He slide it open and stared blankly at the message thread he had with Derek's contact.

_You know, if you let me join, Scott would follow._

**No.**

Stiles took a few steps backwards before turning and heading to the bleachers. Danny was still there, carefully packing his equipment. "You need a ride?" Stiles offered. Danny shook his head. Stiles grabbed his backpack and left.

When he got home he took a shower, taking a long moment after to stare at the bruises that were still spattering his side, just motley yellow patches now, but still there. Stiles wanted to punch something, wanted to scream, wanted to break the glass before him as much to shatter the image he hated staring back at him as to feel the sharp pain as the shards broke the skin of his hand. He half wanted to do it just to see if he could still feel any pain after everything that had happened to him. Stiles had a suspicion he didn't.

Stiles did nothing. He dried himself off and got dressed in pajamas even though it was only five and resigned himself to frozen dinner because his dad was working until one. His dad, who still doesn't trust him. Stiles ate dinner bitterly, stabbing his fork into the meal that looked nothing like its picture on the box.

The last week of school went by in a daze of excitement, although Stiles didn't really feel any of it. But everybody was talking about plans for the summer and Boyd and Erica returned, making deals with the principal and their teachers on how to make up the last month worth of work. It was easy to accept that there was no longer a threat when Scott told him the alpha pack was gone because Stiles wasn't really aware of it in the first place. He was surprised when he was told that Scott had officially joined.

School let out and Stiles found himself walking around the preserves, careful not to cross into Hale property. He did it to clear his mind, to try and make the woods just the woods and not a place of monsters and dead bodies. He did it because he couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone to text Scott when he hadn't received on from his so called best friend in weeks. He did it because all the research he had done on werewolves still cluttered his room and he didn't want to look at any of it, rather losing himself in his mind than in the world of terror he knew wasn't only fairytales anymore.

Besides, Stiles thought on one of his walks as it began to get dark, the only people to die here were people who pissed off Matt and werewolves. What did he have to fear?

He reached a point that plateaued out and then dropped down a steep cliff into the ravine. It was a pretty spot where Stiles was sure Scott had at least once made out with Allison. The sun was setting behind the trees making everything look on fire in an abstract sort of way. Stiles let his mind wander, watching the sky change color and the dimming light change the landscape before him. He supposed he jinxed himself by thinking there was nothing to fear, but even as he made his way back to his house by the light of the stars and the glow of his cell phone, nothing attacked him. There wasn't even a creepy rustle of leaves.

X

Derek found himself an odd mix of uncomfortable and content when his pack started spending time at the Hale house during the summer. It seemed every day at least two or three of them would show up, plus Isaac and Peter, who lived there with him. He was surprised how often one was Scott, but the friendship between him and Isaac seemed to explain that. Together, they began fixing up the place, building a new home, giving them each a room to stay in if they ever needed it. It wasn't until Erica and Boyd moved in that Derek realized he had never seen Stiles. Even Lydia and Danny often tagged along when Jackson came over. It seemed off that Scott was never accompanied by Stiles.

He paid close attention the next time Scott showed up. He couldn't even smell the kid on him anymore. Scott smelled like his mom and pack and Isaac, and the faintest hint of Allison. But no Stiles. Derek asked and Scott seemed genuinely surprised he hadn't hung out with Stiles all break and it was already more than half way over. Lydia commented that she had seen him once at the grocery store and he looked fine. He asked if she talked to him. She responded by raising her eyebrow and saying "Why would I do that?"

Everyone was around that day, had heard the conversation. Isaac supplied that he never really left the property unless it was to go to Scott's house. Erica told them while she used to have a crush on the kid she only ever talked to him after the bite and only ever because of pack business. Why would she seek him out now? Boyd held her hand and said "Stiles annoys the shit out of me. I don't care where he is." Jackson agreed. Derek's eyes fell on Danny's who merely shrugged.

Scott made an affronted noise as he stared at his phone, announcing in disbelief he hadn't even texted Stiles since school let out. He looked at everyone sheepishly before heading out. "I am a crappy friend."

Derek had to agree.

Twenty minutes later Derek got a text from Scott.

_He's not at his house :(_

Derek didn't respond. Another ten minutes his phone buzzed again.

_I can't track his scent, he's be walking in the woods A LOT it seems._

That made Derek's brow furrow in unexpected worry. What could Stiles be doing? But there were no threats so there was nothing to worry about, he told himself.

An hour later, Scott texted again and Derek finally relented in responding.

_He's still not back! :( :( :(_

**I'm sure he's fine. Try again tomorrow or just call him.**

After shoving his phone into his back pocket, Peter came into his line of sight gave a bored roll of his eyes. "Stiles not being here isn't the harbinger of misfortune, Derek," he droned on in a way that still sounded amused. "If there was a threat, we would have known by now. The kid, as much as I admire him, obviously wants nothing to do with the werewolf side of life." Derek didn't think reacted but Peter must have seen through his stoic expression. "I mean," he continued, "even if he did refuse when I offered the bite, if he still wanted in he would have come of his own accord like the lovely Miss Martin or Mister Mahealani."

Lydia gave Peter her best death glare as Jackson stepped in front of her. Peter merely rolled his eyes. The knowledge that Peter, during all his insanity, had _offered _the bite to Stiles instead of just claiming him like he did Scott or tried Lydia was new to Derek. It set his teeth on edge.

X

Stiles was so surprised when his phone chirped he jumped with a little yelp. He was even more surprised that it was Scott, although he probably shouldn't have been. Despite the lack of contact, he was still the most likely to text him.

_What's up? Haven't seen you all summer man! Idk how that happened._

Stiles knew exactly how that happened. When he wanted to be, Stiles could be a really good observer. He just sighed and ignored the churning in his stomach and texted Scott back.

_Been busy. _

And he had. Stiles had been so fucking busy. He'd first been busy trying to learn how to breathe again. Then he'd been busy making himself not afraid of the woods. Then the night.

One time when his dad was working the night shift Stiles tried staying the night in the woods. He tripped and split his hand on a rock. It wasn't a deep cut, but it stung. It made him feel something other than empty.

Then Stiles had been busy doing things that were dangerous that in no way involved the supernatural. He told himself he did it to feel a rush of adrenaline, to fee alive. He knew he did it because every time he fell and got a little banged up and the pain hit his system was when the aliveness really kicked in. It wasn't the adrenaline. And doing stupid things kept him occupied and he could blame it on being clumsy if his dad ever saw the marks.

Stiles spent a day climbing up the cliff along the ravine to the spot he thought was beautiful instead of walking his way through the preserve to get there. He did it without any gear. By the time he reached the top he was winded, his muscles screamed, his hands had jagged pebbles digging into his palms, and his knee was bleeding. He smiled at the setting sun.

But all of it wasn't enough. There were only so many times you could romp around in the woods before your footing got better and you don't trip as often. Then he found himself busy spending too much time in the bathroom, the door shut and locked even when he knew his dad would be gone for hours, staring at the marks he made in the mirror after taking too long showers where he let the blood rinse down his thighs.

When Scott texted him he wasn't even in Beacon Hills. Stiles was two towns over, four-wheeling a trail in a different forest, half hoping to get lost, maybe hoping to lose control, to crash. He had been reveling in the way the pencil thin lines he carved himself smarted as he rode. He stopped the bike to eat in a nice clearing when his phone went off. And a part of him was so angry that Scott had forgotten him for so long while another was so delighted that Scott was remembering him now. He didn't know which was worse realized how absolutely pathetic he was being.

They continued to text, Stiles trying his best to sound normal, and planned to meet up the next day. Before Stiles even crawled into bed that night, however, Scott canceled on him. Allison had called and wanted to talk in person. Stiles knew he'd always come second best to Allison. He didn't even register the disappointment.

It didn't matter, in the end, because before Stiles would have left, his dad chewed him out for taking the four-wheeler out of town without permission. The day after, Scott tried to meet up again, but Stiles told him he was busy. Which, was true. Not busy in the way he had been all summer, but busy in the way he was every summer on this day. After Stiles read the second Harry Potter book, he always baked his mom a cake. He wanted to bring a rotten fish when he was a kid, but his dad never let him. So Stiles spent the day baking a cake that probably tasted terrible, but it didn't matter because he wasn't going to eat it. No one was. Maybe some birds. Then, that afternoon, he and his father went down to the cemetery and Stiles left the cake by her headstone like most people leave flowers. Then, like every year since becoming old enough to convince his dad to leave without him, he stayed behind. His dad still needed to change and head into work anyway.

But unlike every other time, Stiles didn't stay. Or, well, he didn't stay too long. He found himself wandering out of the cemetery and through the woods and into the preserve and up the path he had near memorized. His feet moved without him really thinking about it. He wasn't really thinking of anything. Stiles felt numb. There was a sting with every step from the cuts on his thigh that ghosted through him, as if this were not his body, as if he were feeling pain that wasn't his. Even the weight in his chest felt hollowed. He felt carved out and empty and made out of lead all at once.

Stiles found himself standing on the edge of the cliff and the sun was setting, just like it was every time he reached this spot, making the whole forest below look in flames. He toed the edge, closer than he ever had before. There was solid ground beneath his feet, but take one step and he'd be flying on air. It would be so easy to take that one step.

He stood for a while, watching the sun fade behind the horizon, thinking. If this were a movie, a book, if life followed the rules of writers who gave viewers what they wanted, then someone would walk in on him right now. Maybe a stranger who had gotten lost, they would notice what Stiles was doing and convince him not to and they would talk and they would bond and maybe over time they would fall in love. Maybe a couple would stumble up here, looking for a secluded place to make-out and Stiles would walk away to give them privacy, not subjecting young love to something as dark as death. Maybe some creature, some omega or something he's never encountered, would come and tear him to pieces, making the decision for him. Maybe Scott would remember what today was and come looking for him. Maybe Derek see him and tell him he's being an idiot and bring him back home because he's the alpha and despite not being part of the pack, Stiles still feels like Derek owes him enough to care whether he lives or dies.

But no one is coming. Stiles knows this. In all the nights he's spent on the side of the preserves away from the Hale property, he's never encountered anyone. No one is going to come and stop him. And that's precisely why he does.

X

Derek was running when he smelled the blood. It was early morning, the sound of birds waking up and greeting the sun that was barely peeking above the tree line. He ran this route most days, by the ravine that leads to the lake he used to swim in. There are times when Derek still gets the urge to just plunge in, but he's too haunted by memories of Kate before the fire and of being trapped in his own body earlier that year.

The scent of blood is overwhelming and distinctly human and unnervingly familiar. He began racing toward it without much thought, his heart pumping wildly. He's not sure what it could be that's good, but he hopes to god he doesn't stumble across another so called animal attack. Derek doesn't. There's nothing but blood stains and police tape and a number of marks from car wheels. The police have already come and gone without leaving an outline of the body or a cruiser to patrol. It may still have been an attack, but at least no one's dead.

But then the disturbingly familiar tang of the scent hits him and he runs towards the hospital without another thought, nothing running through his brain the entire way there. After bolting through the sliding doors, Derek nearly collided with the Sheriff on his way to reception. Both men looked wrecked, the elder as if twenty more years had been etched on him and his eyes painted red, the younger with eyes so wide and expression so hopeless as they locked glances that the Sheriff had no doubt as to who he was there for.

In silence, they made their way to the sitting area. Derek was too afraid to speak, his concentration on sifting through the sterile air in search of Stiles. A nurse brought over a coffee and handed it to the Sheriff, she had a solemn face and recognized Derek with a frown. She muttered that she'd bring another over. Derek noticed the name tag McCall before she left.

"I don't know what relationship you have with my son," the Sheriff said, his voice cracking as if he hadn't spoken in years, "but I can tell it was a lot more than he ever let on." Derek tried to look away but couldn't will himself to do it. He and the Sheriff were on better terms ever since he came in late May before the school year ended and went through all the necessary paperwork to become Isaac's legal guardian. That didn't mean they were on good terms. Derek just stared. "An old college, Bernie, he likes to go fishing at night during the summer. Says the fish are still away but there's no one disturbing the water. He was just setting up on the opposite bank when he saw-" he cut off with a choked sound, "when he saw someone fall from the cliff. He called 9-1-1 and sped his boat across and held my son's hand as they waited for the ambulance. He was still conscious. Bernie doesn't think it was an accident."

"Someone pushed him?" Derek asked, half out of his seat in fear and rage at the idea.

"No."

The silence was deafening. Derek's ears couldn't process the chatter around them or the footsteps of nurses and patients and doctors and visitors, heels clacking against the linoleum floors. All he could hear was the rushing of his own blood and the unsteady thump of the heart belonging to man across from him. He wasn't sure when Scott's mom came back and placed the coffee cup in his hands. Suddenly it was just there. He stared at the dark liquid, a safer place to fix his gaze than either of his company.

"Stiles saved my life once," he told them, unsure why the words were coming out of his mouth. "I had been paralyzed, the same thing that broke out at The Jungle. Read about it in the paper. Someone tossed me in a pool. Stiles saw and just jumped right in after me. He held me up for two hours before Scott turned up and chased them away, just in time to drag us out."

Derek closed his mouth and took a sip of his cooling coffee. It was bitter, but he didn't care. Bitter was an appropriate taste for the moment.

"That explains his case of pneumonia," the Sheriff huffed with a strangled sob. Derek couldn't help but look up and caught the gleam of suppressed tears in his eyes and the proud smile on his face couldn't be registered as happy. There was a fondness though, and a graveness.

Derek turned to Mrs. McCall, who seemed just as heartbroken by Derek's story. It hadn't been his intention and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Does Scott know?"

She pulled her lips between her teeth and shook her head. "Didn't want to call anyone until he's out of surgery."

Some of the tension Derek was holding released. Stiles was alive. But his muscles coiled back up knowing he may still not survive. Then Derek realized how this all came back to him. Really, Derek always makes the wrong decisions. "He came to me for something," he told them, giving a pointed look to the nurse. "I thought he was asking for all the wrong reasons and I said no." If he hadn't, Derek thought, Stiles would have been around the pack all summer. He would have spent time with Scott, maybe made friends with the rest of them. He wouldn't have…

"The thing you wanted Scott for but not Stiles?" the Sheriff asked. Derek's back straightened as his eyes darted to him. Slowly, the Sheriff pulled out a slightly cracked phone that belonged to Stiles. "His password was yesterday's date. I was going to scroll all of his texts for the past two months but then," he sighed, "I was the last person he messaged, and Scott before that. On Scott's thread, there were canceled plans from two days ago and then nothing since May, which all seemed fairly innocent if not passive aggressive on his part. Everything before that was erased. Then the contact before that was you." Stiles's father took a long drag of probably cold coffee if the heat of Derek's was anything to go by. "It was in April. He was asking to join, hoping you'd say yes to get the two-for. Stiles hasn't talked to his best friend since before school ended. And he had nobody else. And I was blind to it," he muttered into the Styrofoam. "What was it that he wanted in on?"

Derek shook his head. "I promise I'll tell you, but another time."

The Sheriff took him at his word. Then, as if seeing him for the first time, asked, "Did you run here?"

Derek wiped his hands on his track pants, only now realized how the cool hospital air conditioning was making his sweat soaked shirt cling to his skin uncomfortably. "I was on my run when I came across the crime scene. Someone told me it was the Sheriff's kid. I hoped that since there weren't still police investigators, he'd be at the hospital. So, yeah, I ran here."

"That has got to be at least a 10k run."

Derek just shrugged, because he hadn't been out of breath since a minute after sitting down. "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I can feel my legs." His words, however false, pulled a laugh from his audience and the air around them lifted every the slightest.

X

Stiles woke up to the electronic bleep of his heart and the smell of chemicals that Stiles associated with hospitals. His mouth felt like cotton balls and mold. It took a while for his brain to catch up, but then suddenly he went from a conscious body to an aware being. He wondered how much of a fuck up couldn't even kill themselves properly. Everybody dies. He didn't understand why his time couldn't have been now.

But Stiles was awake and his limbs felt like cardboard and his skin felt foreign on his body. There were strange tugs where he was sure needles lay embedded in him or the plaster of cast tugged at the hair on his body or thick black stiches held him together. He was awake, in a shadow of pain that came from hard drugs masking it, not really taking anything away, and Stiles had to open his eyes.

X

Derek stood with a jolt, his chair scrapping against the floor, just moments before Stiles started to flutter his eye lids. The Sheriff to his right startled at the sudden movement. It had been two days of waiting, taking shifts in the lobby when visiting hours were over, both of them whenever they could make it inside the room. Melissa too, if she wasn't working.

Derek didn't tell the pack, Melissa told her son and Scott spent five hours in the lobby with them bemoaning how he could have forgotten yesterday was his mother's anniversary. He loudly cried that if he were a better friend, this wouldn't have happened. Derek wanted to blame him, but couldn't. It was everybody's and nobody's fault all at once. The rest of the pack found out on the second day as news spread around town of the Sheriff's boy. It hit the local paper and news station, both of which Peter kept up on. When he came home covered in the acrid stench of hospital for a few hours of sleep, they all were gathered, knowing exactly where he had been.

"He's asleep," he told them, then fell asleep himself before returning to watch over Stiles's bedside.

But now Stiles was waking up. His eyes open and taking things in slowly. Both Derek and the Sheriff were frozen, afraid to move, to make another sound. The spell was broken when Stiles shifted and moaned in pain and discomfort. The Sheriff raced for the bed, pulling Stiles's pale hand between his own. Derek watched them and Stiles laid eyes on his father, forming the word "dad" with dry lips, his voice too weak to speak yet. He pulled back from the room and called for a nurse to make sure they knew he was awake.

After a nurse came by to check on Stiles, Melissa came rushing, her shift having ended just moments before. She slowed when she spotted Derek waiting outside the door and gave him a quizzical look.

"He's awake," he said, knowing she was already aware. "I can't go in." He doesn't want to see me, he thought.

Melissa just gave a stern look and all but dragged him into the room. Derek could have very easily stopped her, but he let himself be dragged. But he kept his eyes down. Just knowing Stiles was awake was enough. For the past two days Derek had tuned into the steady thrum of his heart in a body that never moved, in a body with three fractured ribs, a leg broken in three places, a nearly shattered left arm, over three hundred stitches, and ever changing gauze wrapping his torso and head. Just listening in on the rustle of bed sheets, the gulping of water, the short, soft words exchanged between father and son, and his heart beating regularly but reacting to the things around him, that was enough.

"Derek?"

X

Stiles felt guilty under the relieved, worried, gaze of his dad. There was so much wonder and hope and happiness in the simple fact that Stiles was alive, it was enough to make feel as if his heart were to explode. Then Mrs. McCall walked in, a mix of determination and tears of joy crossing her face. What was surprising and admittedly hilarious was that she dragged one Derek Hale behind her looking for all the world like a lost child who is unwilling to ask for help.

"Derek?" he croaked.

His head snapped up so fast, Stiles was sure he gave himself whiplash. Derek's eyes were wide and, if Stiles wasn't imagining it, a little bit teary. Now Derek looked like a lost child who just found his mom, although comparing himself to Derek's mother seemed more than weird so he quickly scraped that analogy.

His dad brought a hand up and ran it through his hair before kissing Stiles on the forehead. "He's been helping me watch over you while you were out. He told me how you saved his life. I'm proud of you, kiddo." The Sheriff stood, giving Stiles a firm squeeze of the hand. "Derek's also promised to tell me _everything _everything. Which _Melissa_," he said, giving said nurse a half joking glare, "tells me is well worth hearing under less stressful circumstances but not to worry so much as it's not drugs, she swears.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going get myself more coffee and I know Melissa hasn't had dinner yet, so I'll leave the two of you alone for a bit." Derek's wide eye expression somehow grew wider in surprise, gaping at the Sheriff as he received a poke to the chest. The Sheriff said something that Stiles couldn't hear but thoroughly snapped Derek's jaw closed before leaving the room.

There was a few beats of silence before Derek awkwardly made his way over to Stiles and took over the seat his dad had just vacated. He didn't say anything, merely opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for words.

Stiles felt the need to explain himself the way he couldn't when it had been his father sitting there. He hung his head, unable to look at Derek for this. "When I was growing, I had this friend Monica. We had been neighbors, and she was a couple of years older than me. She was cool. Then her dad got a job in Portland and they moved when I was in sixth grade. It was really hard because my mom had just died too, I felt like everyone was leaving me. But Monica kept in contact. We IM'd all the time, and I met Scott and things started to, I don't know, have a semblance of okay for me. But for Monica, she told me that she didn't like her new classmates, that she had been thrown in middle school with a bunch of people that hated her on sight. Eventually, we fell out of talking. A year or so later my dad got a call from her parents because they knew we had been close. She killed herself.

"I, being who I am, buried myself in research. A new study had been done in the Interpersonal Psychological Theory of Suicide Behavior," he said, pulling each word of that title like teeth because it had been over two years since he read it, "that the people most likely to commit suicide have three common traits. They," Stiles blew out a lung full of air. He wanted to fidget but his fingers looked purple and while he couldn't feel the pain, moving them was hard. "They feel like they're a burden to others, feel socially isolated or alienated, and have started self-harm after 'repeated exposure to painful or fearsome events'."

Stiles lifted his head and looked out the window. The sky was calm and extraordinarily blue that day. "I don't know everything about Monica's situation, but you can't tell me I'm not a perfect candidate. There's a reason for these statistics. Living like this sucks."

Then there was more silence. Stiles didn't look away from the window no matter how much he wanted to read the emotions off of Derek's face, positive he wasn't hiding anything right now.

"You're not a burden," he finally said. Stiles huffed in disbelief, and then there was more silence before Derek finally continued. "About a week ago I noticed you were never around. Before, when all the attacks had been happening, I only ever saw you either with Scott or because…" he trailed off.

"You wanted to scare me into giving you information?" Stiles supplied, still refusing to look back at the werewolf. He seemed to accept it though since he continued speaking.

"I wasn't accustomed to you in my life so I didn't really notice it when you were gone," he explained. "But I was seeing a lot of Scott and I hadn't once seen Scott and Stiles. The idiot hadn't even noticed." Stiles could practically hear Derek cringe. "Scott," he sighed, "I don't care if you blame him at all for any of this, but try not to lay it on him too much. He cried for five hours when he found out you were here and blamed himself the entire time. I'm sure he still is."

This comment caused Stiles to turn and face Derek. "I'm surprised to hear you defend him," he admitted. Derek looked like a wreck. From this close the tears in his eyes were unmistakable and even with his werewolf healing, it looked like he hadn't slept in days. "Why are you here, Derek?"

"Because you matter."

Stiles frowned. It didn't make sense. "Why?"

Derek shook his head, disbelief evident in his features. "Because. Because you're smart. Because you're loyal. Because you care about people, even me. Because you saved my life. Because even when you were broken you still did everything you could to save the day. Because even though I said no I wanted to say yes for reasons I only am beginning to realize. Because when I was on my morning run I smelled your blood and I saw where you landed and my mind went blank and I raced all the way here. Because while you were sleeping you never moved and I couldn't stand it. Because I found myself missing the sound of your voice."

The words tumbled out of Derek's mouth so fast and so adamant that Stiles felt pulled under by waves. Although, he didn't feel like he was drowning, it didn't feel like death.

"Because when Erica flirted with you all those months ago I never realized I was jealous," he said slower, "but I was. Because," Derek paused, making sure he had Stiles's focus, their eyes locked, "because I may be falling madly in love with an idiotic teenager who's dad might actually, literally shoot me and no one would bat an eye about it"

Stiles forced himself to inhale and exhale along with Derek, trying to keep himself calm but hearing the little uptake in speed his heart was making on the monitor. "Only a maybe on the last one?" he questioned genuinely, not quite up to his usual snark. Stiles watched in quiet fascination as Derek honest to god blushed and ducked his head away. "Are you Sandra Bullock?" to which Derek looked just genuinely confused. "Never mind. But, really? With the L-word and everything?"

"Lesbians?"

"Oh, so you've seen _that _movie," Stiles said, a smile tugging at his lips. Derek's eyes zoomed in on it and his eyes softened before bringing a hand up and gently resting it against Stiles's cheek. Derek's thumb pressed against the corner of his lips, making Stiles smile just the slightest bit fuller.

"With the L-word and everything," he repeated.

They stayed like that for a moment, just staring at each other in utter wonder at the other's existence. "Hey," Stiles said, bringing Derek's attention back to his eyes. "So, I can't really move right now, so you should totally kiss me."

"You're only seventeen."

"You remembered my birthday?" It had happened while the alpha's were still in town.

Derek rolled his eyes but frowned all the same. "No," he said, sounding sullen. "It's on your chart."

"Okay," Stiles shrugged. "So, I'm seventeen. Kissing a seventeen year old isn't illegal."

"No," he conceded with a small smile. "But your dad's been listening in to the last two minutes or so of this conversation."

Stiles groaned and threw his head back. "Dad? Seriously? I was going to have my very own romantic comedy moment!" he yelled to the hallway.

The Sheriff poked his head in only a little sheepishly. "Glad to hear your voice again, son," he smiled.

Stiles chest constricted in the guilt that hung over him, but he smiled in return. "Yeah."

X

After helping Stiles up the stairs and into bed, Derek sat down with the Sheriff and told him everything. It had been a long and tense night. The next day Derek sat down with the Sheriff and was given the talk about what was allowed and not allowed in relation to his son. It had been an even longer, just as tense and ten times as awkward night. Derek told Stiles he was not allowed to give him the bite until after college, if Stiles still wanted it by then. And that Derek better damn well make sure Stiles doesn't get hurt by anyone or anything before then. Derek had insecurely admitted to the Sheriff that he had no worries about Stiles being a top priority.

The pack, in groups of two or three, came over and visited Stiles. It was going to be awkward for a while, no one wanting to breech the subject of why Stiles was so badly beaten up. Derek left whenever Stiles fell asleep, which was often because he was still on heavy drugs, but always came back when he texted. Mostly they just watched movies, Stiles still unsure how to be in Derek's space and Derek afraid of hurting any healing injuries.

"You know," Stiles said the day after he got his stiches taken out. His casts were still on but his bruises were faded enough you could only see a few of them and only if you were looking. He didn't look as haunted as he did the day he woke up in the hospital. He was even smiling like a loon. "I never did get that kiss."

It had been two weeks, school was going to start soon, and Derek hadn't kissed Stiles yet. "No, I never did," he said, bringing a hand up to cup Stiles's cheek like he had in the hospital. His thumb chased the corner of his smile. "I suppose I should fix that, huh."

"Yeah," Stiles said, his grin growing even wider, eyes clear of pain meds and completely focused on Derek. "I suppose you should."

So he did.

X

This potential, this future, this constant state of care was mending him. This was Stiles: a seventeen year old young adult with a medically induced attention span, close to zero coordination, and not hiding behind anything at all.


End file.
